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Tuesday, January 3, 2012

The Beat Coffeehouse &
Records, an independent coffee shop and vinyl record store
located on the corner of Fremont and Sixth in, offers up a decent
mug of Joe, interesting eats and nice selection of beer and wine
in an eclectic setting boarding on hip.

I came upon this place on my last holiday trip to Las Vegas, and
instantly took a shine to the place, so utterly devoid of chain
coffeehouse BS. The croissants though not made locally – the
frozen dough is imported from France – is proofed, shaped and
baked in town, and are crispy, flaky, and slightly sweet and
chewy.

On my two visits this holiday season I opted for some simple
breakfast fare, mainly to atone for the humongous breakfast I
partook at Hash House A Go Go the morning prior [see
blog post].

On the first day I spied the Slap & Tickle sandwich on the
menu, with organic peanut butter, homemade strawberry jam, crispy
bacon, pickled jalapeño slices and honey on Country White
bread.

What stood out was the jalapeño. Packing a serious wallop,
it drowns out the flavor of the bacon in the process. The homemade
strawberry jam is a little runny and the organic peanut butter is
a tad loose, so be mindful to hunch over your plate while eating.

A couple of mornings later I returned to snag a breakfast
croissant sandwich. Along the way I passed a street person
throwing some cards on to the pavement. Waiting for him to go off
the radar, I grabbed up with turned out to be casino and credit
cards. The name listed clearly didn’t match with the make and
model of the now apparent thief. I tried calling the numbers
listed on the cards to no avail.

Frustrated I related my story to the barista at the coffeehouse.
On her suggestion I cut up the cards and tossed them in the trash.
While waiting for my order there was a small commotion in a back
room. One of the cleaning staff had their wallet pinched from
their purse, and there had been a questionable character briefly
in the shop only minutes earlier. I had, by chance, picked up the
cards tossed aside from her purloined pocketbook.

Crestfallen that I had just chopped up her credit card, I went
back out to look for other items, most importantly her drivers’
license. Finding nothing more I returned with the bad news, and
finally settled into my sandwich.

The croissant was crisp and flaky, with a big fluffy oval of
scrambled egg nestled within along with melted Swiss cheese and
crispy bacon. It was fine and filling.